THE FROZEN WILDERNESS.
“Whoso shrinks or falters now,
Whoso to the yoke would bow
Brand the craven on his brow.
Take your land of sun and bloom;
Only leave to freedom room
For her plough, and forge, and loom.”
WHITTIER.
At Southampton the Pilgrims made no lengthened stay, pausing but to
perfect some necessary final arrangements.[123] A fortnight later,
on the 5th of August, 1620, the “Speedwell” and the “Mayflower”
weighed anchor, and hoisting sail, set out in company for America.
The English soil had scarcely dipped below the horizon, when the
“Speedwell” made signals of distress; she was found to leak badly.
After consultation, the voyagers wore ship, and put into Dartmouth
harbor for repairs. Here the Pilgrims passed eight days, “to their
great charge, and loss of time and a fair wind.”[124]
On the 21st of August, a fresh start was made. This time a hundred
leagues of sea were passed, and the vessels were just rounding Land’s
End, when lo, the “Speedwell” again bore up under pretence of
unseaworthiness. Once more the shores of England were regained, and
anchor was dropped in Plymouth harbor. The captain of the recusant
ship, backed by his company, was dismayed at the dangers of the
enterprise, and gave out that the “Speedwell” was too weak for the
voyage. “Upon this,” says Bradford, “it was resolved to dismiss
her and part of the company, and to proceed with the ‘Mayflower.’
This, though it was grievous and caused great discouragement, was
put into execution. So after they had taken out such provision as
the ‘Mayflower’ could stow, and concluded both what number and what
persons to send back, they had another sad parting, the one ship
going back to London, and the other preparing for the voyage. Those
that returned were such as, for the most part, were willing to do so,
either out of discontent or some fear conceived of the ill-success of
a voyage pressed against so many crosses, and in a year-time so far
spent. Others, in regard to their own weakness and the charge of many
young children, were thought least useful, and most unfit to bear the
brunt of this hard adventure; unto which work of God and judgment of
their brethren they were content to submit. And thus, like Gideon’s
army, this small number was divided, as if the Lord thought even
these few too many for the great work he had to do.”[125]
But though Cushman wrote, “Our voyage thus far hath been as full
of crosses as ourselves of crookedness,”[126] no dangers could
appal the dauntless; and “having thus winnowed their numbers, the
little band, not of resolute men only, but wives, some far gone in
pregnancy, children, infants, a floating village, yet in all but one
hundred souls, went on board the single ship, which was hired only to
carry them across the Atlantic; and on the 6th of September, 1620,
thirteen years after the first colonization of Virginia, two months
before the concession of the grand charter of Plymouth, without any
warrant from the sovereign of England, without any useful charter
from a corporate body, the Pilgrims in the ‘Mayflower’ set sail for
the New World, where the past could offer no favorable auguries.”[127]
But these Christian heroes of a grander venture than that classic
voyage which Virgil has sung of old Æneas,
“Trojæ qui primus ab oris
Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit
Litora,”[128]
unawed by the abounding perils of the sea and land, unchilled by the
desertion of their comrades, kept on their solitary way, and “bated
no jot of heart or hope.”
The “Mayflower” was a small vessel, yet smaller ones had repeatedly
explored the ocean. “Columbus’ ‘ships’ were from fifteen to
thirty-two tons burden, and without decks. Frobisher had traversed
the watery waste with a vessel of twenty-five tons, and Pring
had coasted along the shores of New England in a bark of fifty
tons. Those were manned by hardy seamen, to whom the tempest was a
play-fellow; but these men and women and children knew nothing of the
sea; they only knew that ships sailed, and too often did not return;
they had seen the sea, even along the coasts of England and Holland,
lashed into fury. To trust themselves upon it on an uncertain voyage
to a wilderness harbor” was no gala undertaking; yet serenely
they accepted the situation, thankful to God for civil rights and
untrammelled liberty to hymn his praises.
“The voyage of the pioneer ship,” says Elliot, “was long,
tempestuous, and monotonous, as what sea-voyage is not? yet, with a
firm purpose, she opened a way through the buffeting ocean towards
the setting sun. Already its rays came to them a little shorn; the
autumn solstice was at hand, and winter not far away. In religious
exercises, in hopeful conversation, the exiles passed the weary days.
These were varied by storms, and once by a great danger. In the
straining of the ship, a strong timber threatened to break. Then,
among the lumber which they had brought, a large ‘iron screw was
found, and the ship was saved.’ Their faces were turned westward,
but who can wonder that a lingering look was cast behind, and that
pleasant memories for a moment dimmed their recent sufferings and
present hopes? Men, women, and children suffered the ‘sickness of the
sea,’ that sickness which is inexorable, which weakens the knees,
burdens the heart, and paralyzes the brain. The sailors laughed and
scoffed; but to them it seemed that death was nigh. Yet it was not;
one only of the whole number, William Butten, died during the voyage;
and one was born to take his place, a son of Stephen Hopkins, named
Oceanus, the son of the sea.
“Daily the Pilgrims turned their eyes westward, hoping for a sight of
the new land. They had shaped their course for the Hudson river, of
which the Dutch navigators had made favorable reports. As the voyage
lengthened, their longings for the land increased. They had been
tossed on the sea now sixty-five days, when, on the 9th of November,
the long, low coast-line of the New World gladdened their eyes. They
thanked God for the sight, and took courage. On the 11th of November
they dropped anchor within Cape Cod. Sixty-seven days they had passed
in the ship since their final departure from England, and one hundred
and twelve since the embarkation at Delft Haven. They were weary,
many were sick, and the scurvy had attacked some. They might well
rejoice that they had reached these shores.”[129]
On their departure from Holland, Robinson had handed them a long and
pregnant letter of instruction and advice. In this he counselled,
among other things, the early formation of a body politic, and the
inauguration of a civil government. “As you are not furnished with
persons of special eminence above the rest to be chosen by you into
office of government,” he added, “let your wisdom and godliness
appear not only in choosing such persons as do entirely love and will
to promote your common good, but also in yielding unto them all due
honor and obedience in their lawful administrations.”[130]
In obedience to this sage counsel, the Pilgrims now, before landing,
met to consider how their government should be constituted; and they
formed themselves into a body politic by this formal, solemn, and
voluntary compact:
“In the name of God, Amen; We whose names are underwritten, the loyal
subjects of our dread sovereign King James, having undertaken, for
the glory of God, and advancement of the Christian faith, and honor
of our king and country, a voyage to plant the first colony in the
northern parts of Virginia, do, by these presents, solemnly and
mutually, in the presence of God and of one another, covenant and
combine ourselves together into a civil body politic, for our better
ordering and preservation, and furtherance of the ends aforesaid; and
by virtue hereof, to enact, constitute, and frame such just and equal
laws, ordinances, constitutions, and offices, from time to time, as
shall be thought most convenient for the general good of the colony:
unto which we promise all due submission and obedience.”[131]
“This instrument—under which John Carver was immediately and
unanimously chosen governor for one year—was signed by the whole body
of men, forty-one in number; who, with their families, constituted
the one hundred, the whole colony, ‘the proper democracy’ that
arrived in New England. This was the birth of popular constitutional
liberty. The Middle Ages had been familiar with charters and
constitutions; but they had been merely compacts for immunities,
concessions of municipal privileges, or limitations of the sovereign
power in favor of feudal institutions. In the cabin of the
‘Mayflower’ humanity recovered its rights, and instituted government
on the basis of ‘equal laws’ for ‘the general good.’”[132]
Law and order provided for, the Pilgrims next proceeded to select
the precise spot for their settlement. “The first Virginia colony,”
remarks Bancroft, “sailing along the shores of North Carolina,
was, by a favoring storm, driven into the magnificent bay of the
Chesapeake. The Pilgrims, having chosen for their settlement the
country near the Hudson, the best position on the whole coast, were
conducted, through some miscalculation, to the most barren and
inhospitable part of Massachusetts.”[133]
It was a mooted question whether to plant a colony on this frigid
coast, or to hoist anchor anew and set sail for the Hudson. The
captain of the “Mayflower” favored an immediate settlement;[134]
and the voyagers, weary of the sea, and, perhaps, influenced by the
fact that the winter began to breathe upon them, finally determined
to send ashore a reconnoitering squad to sound the disposition of the
natives, and to select a landing-spot.
In 1584, the settlers under Sir Walter Raleigh’s patent had named
the entire southeastern coast of North America Virginia, after Queen
Elizabeth; but in 1614 the name of New England began to be applied to
the more northern portion of this immense extent of territory;[135]
and thus it happened that here, on this wild coast, the Pilgrims had
a dear home word still wrapped around them.
On the 13th of November, the exiles unshipped their shallop. It was
found to want repairs. Sixteen or seventeen days must elapse ere it
could be gotten ready for service, so the carpenter said. Impatient
of delay, sixteen men, “with every man his musket, sword, and
corslet,” went ashore, headed by stout Miles Standish, the military
leader of the Pilgrims.[136]
“Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of
iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.”[137]
“On account of the danger,” the expedition “was rather permitted
than approved.” But Standish and his comrades had braved peril too
often to yield it obeisance. They found the shore inexpressibly bleak
and barren. Winter had already set his icy kiss upon the streams.
Nothing greeted their eyes but heavy sand, a few stunted pines, and
some sweet woods, as junipers and sassafras. They made this record
in their journal: “We found the greatest store of fowl that ever we
saw.”[138]
Explorations were at once commenced. “They sent parties along the
coast, and into the forests.” “About ten o’clock one morning,” says
a member of the band, “we came into a deep valley, full of brush,
woodgaile, and tiny grass, through which we found little paths or
tracks, and then we saw a deer, and found springs of fresh water,
of which we were heartily glad, and sat us down and drank our first
New England water.”[139] Continuing their march, they were perplexed
by the frequent forest cross-paths. Once they struck a track “well
nigh ten feet broad,” which they thought might lead to some human
habitation; but eventually they concluded that it was “only a path
made to drive deer in when the Indians hunted.”
Still they found no natives; and wearying of that path they took
another, when, lo, they saw a mound “which looked like a grave, but
was larger.” “Musing what it might be,” they finally determined to
examine. “We found,” says the old chronicler, “first a mat, and
under that a fair bow, and then another mat, and under that a board
about three feet long, finely carved and painted; also between the
mats we found bowls, trays, dishes, and such like trinkets. At length
we came to a fair new mat, and under that two bundles—one bigger the
other less. We opened the greater, and found in it a great quantity
of fine and perfect red powder, and the bones and skull of a man.
We opened the less bundle, and found the same powder in it, and the
bones and head of a little child.
“Once, when examining one of these grave mounds, we found a little
old basket full of fair Indian corn, and on digging farther, found
a fine, great basket full of very fair corn of this year, with some
thirty-six goodly ears of corn, which was a goodly sight; the basket
was round and narrow at the top; it held about three or four bushels,
which was as much as we could lift from the ground, and it was very
handsomely and cunningly made.”[140]
This corn was carefully preserved for seed. “We took it,” says
the conscientious narrator, “proposing, as soon as we could meet
with any of the inhabitants of that place, to make them large
satisfaction.”[141] And afterwards this corn was mentioned to
Massasoit, the Indian king, when the exiles proffered it back to the
owners, and on their refusal of it, paid them in “whatsoever they
might rather choose.”[142]
This exploration was unsuccessful; as was also the first expedition
in the shallop, which had been at length repaired. “Some of the
people that died that winter took the origin of their death” in
this second enterprise; “for it snowed and did blow all the day and
night, and froze withal.” The men who were from time to time set on
shore “were tired with marching up and down the steep hills and deep
valleys, which lay half a foot thick with snow.”[143]
Checkered by these adventures, the days passed away, and meantime
the winter deepened. Nothing had yet been done, the captain was
impatient to be gone, and he threatened to set his passengers ashore
at hap-hazard under the cheerless skies and bitter winds of drear
December.[144]
Pushed to renewed exertion by these considerations, the dauntless
Pilgrims once more launched their shallop, and quitting their
loved ones in the ship, again essayed to find some proper site for
a settlement. This time Carver, Bradford, Winslow, and Standish,
accompanied by eight sailors, made the coasting voyage.[145] Infinite
were the hardships which this little band, sailing in December, in
an open boat, were compelled to undergo. “Some of them were like to
have swooned with cold.” “The water, dashing in spray upon their
clothes, froze, and made them like coats of iron.” For fifteen
leagues they held on their cheerless course upon the winter sea. They
had quitted the “Mayflower” on the 6th of December; two days later
they landed. “Whereupon,” says the old chronicler, “we espied some
Indians, very busy about some black thing; what it was we could not
tell, till, afterwards, they saw us, and ran to and fro as if they
had been carrying away something.” “It was the body of a grampus. Ere
long a great cry was heard, and one of the company came running in,
shouting ‘Indians! Indians!’ This was followed by a flight of arrows;
but Captain Standish was ready, and quickly discharged his musket;
and then another, and another, so that the Indians retreated, and,
except for the fright, no harm was done.” “The cry of our enemies,”
remarks the narrator, “was frightful. Their note was after this
manner: ‘_Woath wach haha hach woach_,’ sounds which we may now utter
with safety—if we can.”[146] This spot was afterwards known as “First
Encounter.”[147]
No convenient harbor had yet been found. But “the pilot of the
boat, who had been in these regions before, gave assurance of a
good one which might be reached before night; and they followed his
guidance. After some hours’ sailing, a storm of snow and rain began;
the sea was swollen; the rudder broke; the boat had to be steered
with oars. Every moment the storm increased; night was at hand; to
reach harbor before dark, as much sail as possible was crowded on:
then the mast broke into three pieces; the sail fell overboard. The
pilot, in dismay, would have run the shallop on shore in a cove
full of breakers. ‘About with her,’ shouted a sailor, ‘or we are
cast away!’ They got her about immediately, and, in passing over the
surf, they entered a fair sound, and found shelter under the lee
of a small rise of land. It was dark, and the rain beat furiously;
yet the men were so wet, and cold, and weak, that they slighted the
danger to be apprehended from the savages, and going ashore, after
great difficulty kindled a fire. Morning, as it dawned, showed the
place to be a small island without the entrance of a harbor. Time was
precious; the season advancing; their companions were left off Cape
Cod in suspense. Yet the day was required for rest and preparation.
It was so spent. The following day was the ‘Christian Sabbath.’
Nothing marks the character of the Pilgrims more fully than that they
kept it sacredly though every consideration demanded haste.”[148]
On Monday, the 11th[149] of December, 1620, the exploring shallop
quitted the island Patmos, and, proceeding up the harbor, landed the
Pilgrim scouting party, on that same immortal day, at Plymouth Rock.
There, in one sense, New England was born; and, as the Forefathers
stepped upon the rock-ribbed shore, it uttered its first baby-cry,
a prayer and a thanksgiving to the Lord—an echo of the old Chaldean
shepherds’ song, “Glory to God in the highest; on earth peace,
good-will to men.”